Youth
by captaindanvers
Summary: PreSerum!Steve, modern day, teenage AU. Steve is in a familiar situation, with a familiar face but something deeply unsettling has changed.
1. Chapter 1

The boot slammed into Steve's ribs, he felt his whole body jerk at the impact. Lying down he wretched blood, his asthmatic lungs struggling for breath as the familiar dull ache of pain coursed through his side. He rolled onto his back, damp from the ground seeping through his thin shirt, his body screaming as the movement caused a new wave of agony. He was sure a few of his ribs were broken. From the point where he lay he could see his attacker out of the corner of his eye, as the familiar hands punched jokingly at the air, bystanders stood a few meters back egging him on.

This wasn't right. None of this was right.

"Get up and on your knees, punk" his attacker joked, the familiar tone cut through Steve like knives, a pain worse than whatever bones he had broken.

Steve never backed away from a fight. He always got back up, ready to take the next hit until he could take no more. But this time was different.

"No" He coughed, blood dribbling onto his chin. Suddenly he was being picked off the ground and shoved heavily against the wall, fists clenched around the loose fabric of his shirt as knuckles dug into his collar bone, pinning him in place.

"I said get up!"A chorus of cheers erupted from the bystanders, several chants of "fight, fight" and a cry of bloodthirsty frustration "C'mon, just hit 'him". Steve's head hit the brick with brutal force. The edges of his vision became blurry and distorted.

"Stop." He spoke quietly, barely managing a whisper, his voice a desperate plea. "Stop, please. Bucky, this isn't you. Please." A look of mild confusion momentarily spread across the boy's face as he held Steve against the alley wall, and then the pressure was gone. Bucky's hands were back at his sides as Steve slid down onto the ground, unable to keep himself up. Bucky was staring at the crumpled boy with complete concentration, a look that was so familiar to Steve and yet in this context so foreign, his eyes were empty of their usual joyous light replaced by an emptiness Steve found unsettling in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. His friend was gone.

Without warning Bucky delivered one final kick to the stomach, which caused Steve's entire body to spasm. As he turned away – much to the disappointment of the on looking crowd – Steve thought he heard Bucky mutter something to himself that filled Steve with as much confusion as was in the boy's voice as he said it. "Who the hell is Bucky?"

As the crowd dispersed with a few final taunts, Steve made no effort to get up. He continued to lie on the ground until dusk began to settle. He lay in that dirty alley, bruised and bloodied and contemplated all the times Bucky had chased off the attackers. All the times Bucky had picked him off the street in a similar state he had now left him. He remembered the look in his eye the times he had helped Steve wash the blood from his face and hair and gently wrapped his wounds in white gauze, the way his nostrils flared in anger as he noticed the dark bruises Steve had desperately tried to hide – knowing the quiet fury Bucky held against anyone who harmed his friend. The memories were such a stark contrast to emptiness Steve had just witnessed, and for the first time in a long time, Steve felt truly alone.


	2. Chapter 2

It was past midnight before Steve made it home. He limped up the path to his house, each step causing a new surge of pain while the rusted Iron Gate swung shut behind him. The semi detached house had fallen into a slight state disrepair, his mother worked long hours as a nurse and didn't have the time or the energy to repaint the weather-worn porch or trim the weeds in the small garden plot. Steve helped out where he could, but it was not enough to keep the house in the pristine condition his father had maintained when Steve was a child.

As he reached the final step Steve slumped on the porch and lent his head against the rail. He closed his eyes and slowly breathed in the cold night air, trying not to think about the pain. Trying not to think about anything. He sat there awhile – his mother was fortunately working the night shift and wouldn't return until the early hours of the morning- the gentle breeze felt good against his skin and the noises of the city felt distant, as though he had detached himself from the world.

He was suddenly snapped out of the light and peaceful trance by the sound of a gate clanging shut. The breeze was not strong enough to push the gate itself but he had heard no footsteps so curiously Steve pried his eyes open. Stood exactly where he was sat just on the porch to the left of his was the girl from next door. The dim street lights illuminated her slightly, casting shadows on her delicate features, her sleek red hair was pulled back tightly, the makeup she had generously applied was smudged and she wore an expression slight amusement.

"Looking good there." Her voice was rich and a small smile tugged at her lips as she spoke. She had lived next to him his entire life, attended his father's funeral, been in the majority of his classes but this was the most words she had ever spoken to him and even now she was mocking him. Typical.

"Yeah , you should see the other guy." He replied dryly. Normally Steve would of jumped at the opportunity to have a conversation with the mysterious red head who walked in shadows and lived life with an expression of utter indifference, but tonight he wasn't in the mood to deal with the tone of her voice or her sly grin that indicated she found Steve's beaten state to be nothing but amusing.

"What happened to your guard dog? Y'know, the cute one?" In the flickering illumination of the broken street lamps Steve wondered what sort of girl Natasha Romanoff was. He rarely heard her spoke, and he hadn't considered that she would ever pay much attention to either himself or Bucky. She was a part of a different crowd. Despite being a sort-of trouble maker she was adored at school, in the hallways desperate teenage boys would repeatedly declare their undying love while she didn't even bat an eyelid. She certainly was beautiful – there was no denying it – she walked with careful grace, she held herself in a way that had an unusual intimidating allure, her features were soft and inviting but her gaze stone cold. Bucky had had a crush on her ever since he had first laid eyes on her. He never, however, stooped so low to harass her with unwanted attention like the self proclaimed hopeless romantics of the hallways.

After a moment of contemplating the girl that stood before him, Steve pulled himself up with a groan to answer the question.

"Guard dogs have a pretty nasty bite" He turned away from her now and staggered to his front door.

"I could teach you a couple of tricks to defend yourself." He could hear the smile in her voice as he fumbled with his keys.

"Goodnight Natasha." He turned to face her a final time "I don't need your help." He stepped into his hallway; it was an empty offer anyway.

"You sure about that?" he heard her chuckle as the door slammed shut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve skipped school the next day. After he went inside he carefully cleaned himself up. He washed the blood from his face and neck, bandaged himself using knowledge he had gained from the basic first aid training his mother had given him and from past experience, and changed his clothes – he stuffed what he had been wearing under his mattress. He would have to chuck out the blood stained shirt and wash the trousers when his mother wasn't around. After assessing the damage he reckoned he had broken or bruised at least two ribs, sprained his wrist and pulled a couple of muscles. Luckily most of the bruising was along his torso and the swelling in his face was only minor. He went to bed just before his mother came home and pretend to be asleep when he heard his bedroom door gently creak open, he could picture her stood in the doorway the expression of sadness and exhaustion -she wore more and more frequently recently- etched onto her face. In the morning he told her he didn't feel well, and when she said that meant if he was too sick to go to school he was too sick to see Bucky he probably should of been a little quicker to argue but all he felt was an emptiness open in his stomach at the mention of Bucky's name. He lay in bed all day, the stillness of the house a mild comfort – even with his mother asleep in the next room the house felt empty, as if echoing his own feelings of hollowness. When his mother checked in on him mid afternoon to say she was working another shift and would be back in the evening to make him something to eat, she lingered at the side of his bed as if wanting to say something important but not sure how to phrase it, ultimately she gave up and left.

Just after the time Steve's school usually finished he heard a sharp knocking on his window. His stomach flipped. Bucky was the only one outside his family who would know which window belonged to Steve, and even though he had never used this method of entry before Steve still hoped. The knocking came again, and at the protest of his aching body he heaved himself out of bed. His heart was pounding and his stomach knotted. He must be here to explain, to apologise; Bucky would never do what he did without good reason. There had to be a reason.

There was a final impatient tap as the curtain was drawn back, and Steve was filled with a sickening sense of relief mixed with bitter anger.

Through the screen he could make out the smirking face of his neighbour. Her red hair loose around her shoulders she perched carelessly on the outcrop of roof that Steve's window looked out onto. Without taking his eyes off her, Steve removed the screen and opened the window a crack.

"Wow you still look like crap." Steve had to take a step back as she jerked the window open fully and pulled herself in. 'Great.' He thought 'this is just what I need right now.'

"What do you want?" She raised an eyebrow at his tone but the boy didn't have the energy to apologise.

"Y'know I figured you might be a little happier about having a girl in your room" She winked before turning to take in Steve's neatly kept belongings. She stopped at the bookshelf and tilted her head to read the titles off the cracked spines.

"War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy" She read out loud.

"He was a Russian writer and philosopher"

"I am well aware." She turned away from the shelves and flung herself onto Steve's unmade bed.

"Personally I prefer his more autobiographical stuff; Childhood, Boyhood, Youth. Y'know?"She was staring up at the ceiling her hands tucked behind her head, one leg bent while the other hung slightly over the edge of the bed. Once again Steve found himself questioning who the girl really was and found himself feeling something akin to pity for her. She was obviously intelligent but he realised no one ever took her seriously because of the way she looked. No wonder she hardly spoke, what's the point in talking if no one cares to listen? Strangers would fall in love with her for her appearance rather than ever take the time to know her and her love her for that. She was repeatedly harassed at school never mind the street, and even some of the girls would seldom speak to her out of spite or jealousy. Steve began to wonder if she was lonelier than she would ever let anyone believe and he was momentarily thankful for his friendship with Bucky before remembering that was somehow lost and his world had crumpled around him.

"What do you want?" He asked again.

"Just thought you might want to know, what's his face wasn't at school today either. And I take it your current levels of self-pity are because you two haven't been spending the day braiding each other's hair or whatever it is you do"

"Wait, are you talking about Buck- I mean James?"

"That's the one"

"He wasn't at school? Are you sure? Do you know why?" Steve was desperate now; his mind had kicked into overdrive ticking over every possibility, including some insane ones. He briefly considered the idea that Bucky had been kidnapped and brain washed by some secret government organisation which would explain his recent behaviour, but he quickly reminded himself that that was ridiculous.

"I dunno, I wasn't exactly giving it my full attention. Just thought you might want to know."

"Oh well, uh thanks- I guess." Steve was lost in thought, his mind only just registering her answer. He was questioning whether it was worth showing up at Bucky's foster parents to get some answers when Natasha sat up on the bed and met his gaze.

"And my offer still stands. The one from last night." There was sincerity in her voice that snapped Steve out of his train of thought. He was honestly a little taken aback.

"Yeah, I'll think about it. Thankyou" She rose from the bed and made her way to the window, Steve stayed rooted to the spot, rotating only slightly to follow her movement. As she climbed through the window, she paused on the roof and spun to face him.

"Look I don't know what's going on with you two, but you seem like you were pretty good friends and I just want you to know if you want to talk about anything you can trust me."

Steve nodded "Thanks I appreciate that." Natasha smiled faintly and turned again, swinging herself off the roof and landing perfectly before scaling the fence that separated the gardens of the two houses.

Steve stood frozen for a moment, first the incident with Bucky and now Natasha Romanoff - the girl he had hardly spoken to before, who cared about nothing and no-one – was climbing into his room, and offering sincere help for seemingly no reason at all. Had someone poisoned the water supply or something? Why was everyone acting so strange?


	4. Chapter 4

The conversation with Natasha was still ringing in Steve's ears as he sat down to eat. He sat across from his mother at the small table that fitted awkwardly in their kitchen; he could hear the soft murmur of voices coming from the TV in the other room, the channel flicked to a small news station that was running through the day's biggest stories. He picked at his food, playing over everything that had happened in the past 48 hours or so in his head.

He couldn't make sense of any of it.

He knew he was probably making a bigger deal out of this than he should be, was it so hard to believe that Bucky had somehow moved on? Steve had always held him back and he had always insisted Bucky was better off without him, and it was plausible that he had taken Natasha too seriously, it was likely she had just been making fun of him.

He stabbed at peas with his fork. He had been over this and it still didn't add up. Even if any of that were true, no matter what Bucky wouldn't have beaten Steve like he did, it wasn't in the boy's nature, and he had seemed genuinely confused when Steve tried speaking to him. And what about Natasha? It seemed like awfully long lengths to go to for a joke, a particularly unfunny one at that, and Natasha had never shown a mean streak before.

The frustration within him was beginning to build when a news story caught his attention, he quickly excused himself from the table and went to crouch in front of the TV, listening intently. The reporter was stood in front of a hospital – evident by the men and women in brightly covered scrubs rushing in and out of the entrance- and spoke into the oversized mic he held close to his mouth.

"-appears over the past couple of days several young person's across the country have been admitted to various hospitals following bizarre symptoms brought on by an unknown substance. Several of the users have begun to suffer: memory loss, displacement from reality, and show signs of extremely erratic and violent behaviour. Those who have been admitted have been put under heavy sedation until the drug can leave their systems. Authorities have made no comment, but there is speculation they are investigating a new recreational substance which has been given the street name hydra. More on this story later-"

The screen cut back to the studio where guests were waiting to discuss the impact of drugs on the youth of America, but Steve wasn't paying attention. A sickening feeling rose in his stomach as he briefly considered the possibility – but no. Bucky would saw his left arm off before he did drugs. There had to be a better explanation - one not so crazy and paranoid.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve woke early the next morning. The sky was painted gold with streaks of red which silhouetted the towering buildings of the city. He pulled on fresh clothes being mindful of his still sore ribs and pushed his feet into his heavy boots. He had decided that it was time he went and got some answers. Thinking over his plans he made toast, as he buttered the golden bread he mapped out his course of action in his head; first he would go and see Natasha - she was hiding something and he needed to know what- and then, well he had no idea what he was going to do after that. He was just going to have to wing it and hope something came to him.

Roughly fifteen minutes late he was stood on her porch, his hands plunged deeply into his pockets as he tried to summon the courage to knock. He could see his breath in the cool morning air. Finally he readied himself, lifted his fist to the door and knocked sharply. He waited listening carefully for sounds of movement inside the house. When no-one came to the door he began to doubt himself. What if she wasn't in? What next? What would he say if she did answer the door? His steady resolve was beginning to unravel. He quickly knocked again, waited a moment and began heading down the porch steps in defeat when he heard the click of the unlocking door behind him. The door swung open, Natasha stood in the doorway, her feet were bare, her arms crossed across her body she wore and oversized black t-shirt and grey jeans, her face was clean of makeup and her red hair pushed over one shoulder.

"Do you have any idea what time this is?" She yawned groggily.

"Sorry but I need to talk to you."

"Can it not wait until an hour that normal functional human beings wake up at?"

"Probably. But I couldn't." Leaving the door open she sighed turned on her heel and stalked down the hallway.

"Well? Come in." Steve hurried back up the steps, closed the door behind him and followed Natasha into a small kitchen. She was turned away from him, pulling a mug out of a cabinet and placing it on the counter in front of her when he caught up.

"Coffee?"

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself." She poured water into an electric kettle and flicked in on, before turning to face Steve.

"Your parents in?"He asked, delicately trying to make polite conversation.

"Nope."

"Huh. Where are they?"

"God only knows" she said with a shrug. " You can sit down you know." Between them was small breakfast bar, he pulled out a chair and sat down. She raised her eyebrows expectantly and Steve gathered his thoughts.

"I'm here because I want to know what's going on."

She snorted. "You're going to have to be a little more specific." He was undeterred by her mocking and continued meeting her cold stare.

"I want to know what happened to Bu-I mean James." He paused. "I want to know why you are suddenly so interested." The kettle began to whistling and she turned back to it with a shrug.

"I'm not."

"Then why climb onto my roof, to tell me that he wasn't at school."

"For the hell of it."

"Bull-SHIT. No one just starts giving a damn for 'the hell of it'" Steve felt the anger and frustration rise in him, he was getting sick of the lies and dead-ends and he had gotten her full attention now. She turned back to him, placed her coffee on the counter of the breakfast bar, and began pulling a chair along the tiled floor. The scratch of metal legs against marble filled the silence left by Steve's outburst. She sat down and chewing the inside of her lip she watched him from across the counter. As she brought the mug up to her lips to a sip of the steaming caffeinated drink her mind turned over what truth to tell him.

"Okay." She said finally, placing the drink back on the counter. "A few weeks ago me and James were put together to work on this History project about the 1917 Russian revolution and the USSR. Usually I hate being partnered with people because I find that stuff pretty interesting, but James was just as passionate about it as I am. So we started hanging out a lot to work on the project and he was nice so even after we handed the project in we would hang out after school and we sort of became friends I guess." She took another sip off coffee, letting Steve take it in before she continued. She had spoken with a certain nonchalance that he wasn't buying, something in the way she said his name made him think there was more to it than she was making out but he let her continue.

"Then a couple of days ago we were supposed to meet up and he bailed on me. He didn't send me a text to say he wasn't coming just didn't show up at all. Whatever though it wasn't a big deal. But then I saw him later in town and he was acting really weird. I went over to talk to him and he started freaking out. It was strange he got really erratic and jumpy, and kept insisting he didn't know I was. Anyway I tried to grab his arm to get him to calm down and he shoved me away, i fell down pretty hard and got back up ready to knock him out but he had just disappeared. Then when I came home later and you were looking even more beaten up than usual I figured the same thing might of happened to you -he used to talk about you a fair amount by the way- and I guess you know what happened after that."

They sat in silence for a moment. Steve pondered over everything he had just been told while Natasha ran her fingers through her hair. He thought she was still holding back about their relationship but it wasn't relevant so he decided not to push it, but there were still a few questions he needed answering.

"How come you were so secretive about it? How come you couldn't just tell me in the first place that you friends? And why did he never mention it?"

"I don't know. I guess that's just how it was. It's not like we sat down and went 'yeah how about we have this super secret friendship' it just happened. And it's not like we ever lied about it, it just never came up. We got pretty close and the closer we were the more awkward it seemed telling you about it."

"And you have no idea what made him start acting so strangely?"

"Not a clue."

"So what do we do now?"

She chewed at her lip again, and looked him straight in the eye.

"We'll think of something."


End file.
